


Always Gold to Me

by HunterPeverell



Series: Unchangeable 'Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Dean's time in Hell, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, Gen, Post-Season/Series 09 Finale, Season 9, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 15:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn't know what had happened to Sam when he came back from Hell. Only that it was really, really bad.</p><p>Dean's point of view in the series Unchangeable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Gold to Me

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel! Hope it works out . . . figured Dean should get some spotlight, too. So, there are two of these. This is Dean’s. The other’s is Sam’s. They’re just . . . what happened to them and what they were thinking as the events of Unchangeable happened. At the end we open into my other actual sequel. I know some of you might not like how I end this, but I kinda wanted to do this for younger Sam. Comment about it and I’ll tell you about it more in depth. Sam’s should be out soon, so keep an eye out!
> 
> Also, going off to college, so we’ll see how this will all work out with updating new stories and stuff.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own X-Box, nor do I really particularly want to, just as I don’t own Supernatural.
> 
> Title is from Radical Face’s song ‘Always Gold’.
> 
> 5/15/16: This story has been edited. It's not perfect, so if you guys spot anything, please let me know. I want to keep improving my writing, and your feedback certainly helps. Hopefully my grammar is better and the story is a little less jumbled. The next story, That Truth We Chase, has also been edited.

_“We were opposites at birth_  
_I was steady as a hammer_  
_No one worried 'cause they knew just where I'd be_  
_And they said you were the crooked kind_  
_And that you'd never have no worth_  
_But you were always gold to me.”_

Okay, so, seriously. Sam was acting weird.

Dean had literally _dug himself out of his own fucking grave_ and he had hoped that Sam was living some normal life. It was a bitch getting in on tact with Bobby, who had promptly put him through the usual tests of Holy Water and silver. Not that Dean hadn’t expected anything less from the old man. But still—no Sam. Problem.

When he finally asked where Sam was, because the floppy haired man was conspicuously absent from the house, Bobby had yet to mention him and nothing even suggested that his brother had spent any time at all in the rundown house.

Bobby confirmed this theory when the old man had told him that Sam had fucked off ages ago, with no forwarding address and continued hunting. It was a blow to Dean, because that was not what Dean had wanted to hear.

He wanted to hear that Sam was safe and (relatively) happy and eating apple pie and tearing his hair out at some pointless no-name lawyer job. But Sam wasn’t doing that.

However, he could deal with it. He could. He knew his brother. Knew how to find him.

Knowing his brother, on the other hand, was proving to not be enough.

***

At first, Dean didn’t suspect anything. Sam entered the room, tentative hope alight in his eyes before it was ruthlessly quashed and his brother attacked him.

Just like Dean had anticipated.

When Bobby assured Sam that _it’s really Dean_ , I checked Sam stopped and looked at Dean, and Dean was taken aback. Because happiness was warring with . . . pain. And bitterness, and just darkness, and _Jesus Christ what the hell happened to Sammy?_

Because there was something wrong. There was something _very_ wrong with his little brother because _Dean_ should have that look in his eyes, that hopelessness lining his face. He’d been to _Hell_ and he looked better than Sam.

Which was wrong.

It should not be that way.

But then Dean thought about his return—the handprint on his shoulder, the way he should _not be alive_ and he sighed mentally because it made sense.

Sam had done something.

***

_“Hello, Dean Winchester,” a silky voice said, and Dean looked up. A white-eyed man stood before him. Demons didn’t have physical forms in Hell, but Dean could tell this demon preferred itself male and was powerful. He’d been here only for a short while, but whispers of Hell’s chief torturer had been passed to him._

_And he stood before Dean now._

_“Who wants to know?” Dean asked because he’d been playing the dumb smart-ass for too long to stop now._

_The demon gave the impression of a cruel smile._

_“I’ll get you off this rack,” he purred, sidling up to Dean. “If you carve up some souls in return.”_

_Well, Dean’s last Deal was a bust. To Hell with Deals._

_. . . That statement was a bit more literal than he’d wanted it to be._

_“No,” Dean said, and the white eyed demon laughed._

_“Pity,” the demon said and picked up a knife._

_Dean screamed._

***

He was vaguely aware of the girl leaving, focusing all of his attention on his brother.

“So tell me, what'd it cost?” he asked at last. He saw Sam tense up, a quick dash of his eyes that wasn’t _‘oh shit he figured it out I’m screwed’_ , but more of a _‘this again?’_ which made no fucking sense, to say the least.

“Nothing,” Sam said. “I didn’t bring you back, Dean.” Dean didn’t detect a lie in those soft tones, but that meant little. He and Sam lied very well . . . and Sam had changed since Stanford. There were things he _didn’t_ know about Sam now, even all these years later. For all Dean knew, Sam could have hidden tells he used on Dean and Dean wouldn’t be any wiser.

That angered Dean. To think that he’d gone to Hell for Sam, and Sam was just . . . “It's not funny, Sam,” Dean snarled when he was sure that he wouldn’t strangle his brother. “To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?”

“You think I made a deal,” Sam said disinterestedly and, sorry, what? How was he so . . . distant? It was like he was . . . reciting lines, parroting words back to Dean from some long lost memory. What . . . what had happened to him?

Dean wanted to tear the truth out of Sam. He wanted to rip and shred that creamy, unblemished skin because goddammit, the kid was _lying_. To _him_.

Instead he took a deep breath.

He was out of Hell. He didn’t need to hurt people. It was wrong to hurt people. It was even worse hurting _Sammy_. Dean would have to get the truth the normal, human way.

He was _out_ of Hell.

He was free.

He jumped back into the conversation.

***

_“Get off the rack and raise a little Hell, Dean,” Alistair whispered as he drew patterns on Dean with a knife. Dean screamed._

_“No!” he shouted, and yelled louder as the demon cut deeper and deeper until he hit Dean’s soul but he just kept cutting and carving and Dean could not stop screaming . . ._

_“SAM!”_

***

It was the little things, really.

Like how Sam lied so easily. Dean started to be able to tell, because Sam’s eyes would flicker away for a bare second before coming back to Dean.

Like how Sam’s eyes would twitch to something that wasn’t there, almost like he expected someone to be there, and that scared Dean because who would be with them? It was always the two of them against the rest of the world and he liked it like that, only it wasn’t the two of them now, because this invisible third person was there, and sometimes Sam looked at that space with affection, others with absolute, undiluted terror that froze the blood in Dean’s veins and he didn’t know who Sam knew who could make that reaction but it scared him.

Like how when he looked at the nothing, it seemed to be because he was reliving some memory Dean couldn’t know, only Sam could. And those memories rubbed off on Dean, because Sam would look at him in breathless horror while also managing to look at him like he was some glass flower.

Delicate.

Priceless.

Breakable.

Dean hated it.

Like how Sam wasn’t scared of angels, how he barely flinched when Castiel greeted him with ‘the boy with the demon blood’ and instead looked amused.

Seriously, he’d’ve punched that dick if it was him.

Like how he knew what would happen on every hunt (Dean could see it in his eyes, could almost hear Sam patronizing him with the ‘research’ he did.) Dean didn’t like to admit it, but Sam was one of the best hunters alive. Something had changed. He fought slightly differently, talked slightly differently. He looked at Dean with a mixture of hope, love, and terror, and Dean didn’t know what to think of it.

But it was Sammy, and Dean knew Sam better than anyone alive, even if his brother was acting . . . off. And so he kept quiet.

Because he needed Sam.

***

_“What’ll it be this time, Dean?” Alistair asked, lazily looking at Dean as he leaned against the table full of weapons and things Dean did not want to think about. “What shall we cut off first? We can start with your little finger. Slicing at the joints . . . we could play Truth or Lie! Each Truth I catch you in, a little more goes off. What do you think, Dean?”_

_“Go die,” Dean spat._

_“Now, now Dean,” Alistair murmured, stroking Dean’s face, and each stroke felt as soft as pieces of jagged glass, but it was so nice compared to what he went each day it felt like a caress . . ._

_“It wouldn’t do to curse at me,” Alistair whispered and plunged a knife into Dean’s heart and Dean screamed and screamed and_

_screamed_

_and_

***

“Dean.” The now-familiar gravelly tones of the angel named Castiel sounded behind him. Dean turned on his bed, looking over at the angel. Castiel was standing across the room. Dean groaned.

“You’re not gonna zap me back to the past again, are you?” he asked gruffly.

“No,” Castiel said simply. “I come with a warning.”

“What warning?” Dean sat up, rubbing his eyes to clear them of sleep.

“Do not trust Sam,” Cas said bluntly. Dean looked at him in surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“Do not trust Sam,” Cas repeated, and Dean felt like the angel was speaking another language.

“He’s my brother,” he said because wow, he was sure witty when it was _four o’clock in the fucking morning._

Cas nodded. “Sam is . . . dark,” he said at last. “There is a darkness about him that many would flee from. Something terrible has happened to him, an event I cannot find. Do not trust him.”

Dean looked around the room to see that; once again, his little brother had fucked off to who-the-fuck-knows-where.

“How is he dark?” he demanded. “Is it because of the demon blood? ‘Cause that’s not his fault, Cas. He was a freakin’ _baby_.”

“It is not because of the demon blood,” Cas said calmly. “There is a darkness lodged in his _soul_ , a mark that burns.”

“What kind of mark?” Dean asked wearily.

“Not the good kind,” Cas said. “It is . . . difficult to describe. The closest I can come to in the limited language you have is . . . poison. His soul has been poisoned by many evil creatures.”

“Can you tell who?” Dean asked. “I come back from Hell, and it’s like Sam’s a whole ‘nother person. That’s not normal, Cas. Something happened to him.”

“I agree,” Cas said slowly. “But I cannot tell who poisoned Sam. Do not trust him, Dean Winchester. I fear he means no good to any of us.”

“Whatever,” Dean said and ignored Cas. He turned, not caring if he looked like a child, rolled onto his stomach and fell asleep once more.

It's not like Dean hadn't noticed it as well. He’d seen Sam shift from happy normal Sam to something old and dark and tired and . . . terrifying.

He just didn't know what to do about it.

He welcomed the darkness.

***

Dean just sat back and let Sammy take care of things, because it barely seemed as if his brother needed him.

Except he did. Just not how Dean had thought he did.

“Why don’t you just go alone?” Dean demanded, glaring at Sam, who stared back with a blank hopelessness.

Dean was becoming used to the look.

“What?” Sam asked.

“Why am I here?” Dean demanded. “’S not like you need me!”

“Of course I do!” Sam shouted, hands clenched and jaw tight. “You’re my brother!”

And Sam looked at Dean with longing and love and a faded, dusty horror and that’s when Dean got it. Sam didn’t need Dean to be a hunter anymore. He was too good. He needed Dean for _Dean_ , and Dean felt a warmth unravel in his chest because Sam hadn’t wanted his brother as is since before he left for Stanford, before he wanted _normal_ , and . . .

Well, Dean needed Sam, too.

Fine, fuck, he'd let it go for now. He was gonna _grill_ Sam later.

“Okay,” he said and backed down. “Okay,” he repeated and watched Sam fold into himself, closing his eyes in relief for a moment before his brother was back to his computer, researching.

Dean watched him for a moment before lying on the bed.

_What happened, Sam?_

***

It was a busy year, so far. Fallen angels named Anna, Ruby popping up where she wasn’t wanted, Sammy acting off, and Castiel’s repeated warnings about demons, Sam, and everything else under the sun, and if that didn’t make things worse, he told Sam about Hell.

Who stared back unsurprised because what the hell did that kid _not_ know these days? Dean half expected Sam to tell him it could get worse and get over himself because whatever had happened to Sam just _had_ to have been worse than what Dean—who went to fucking _Hell_ for him—had been through.

 

But instead Sam simply grabbed Dean and pulled him into a tight hug and Dean started to cry.

***

_“Dean . . .” Nails skittered across the walls caked with grime and blood and Dean flinched despite himself._

_“Oh, go fuck yourself,” he spat._

_The nails paused before continuing. “Now, now.” The voice was soft and controlled. “Wouldn’t do to lose out temper today, now would it?”_

_Like today matters, Dean thought. He could no longer tell how long he’d been down in Hell, only that it had been a very long time._

_“Who cares?” Dean said. “Why don’t you go play with your fuck buddies?”_

_“But you’re so much fun,” the voice hissed suddenly in his ear, but Dean was too tried and in pain to react._

_“’S what all the ladies say,” he said. “Get in line, pal.”_

_“I have VIP access.” In the darkness, Alistair grinned and started to carve._

_And Dean screamed._

***

Dean watched Sam sitting at the computer, researching something and writing notes down in a little notebook. Something had been bothering Dean, and he cleared his throat softly. “So,” Dean said. “I told you about Hell.”

Dean gripped his beer bottle tighter, wanting to shut up because Hell was not something he wanted to talk about, period, but Sam being the girl he was, Dean would have to do some sharin’ and carin’ to get answers. And because it was Sam, he was willing to do just that. Sam looked up from his screen and glanced over at him.

“Yeah,” Sam said simply. Dean ground his teeth in frustration.

“So you gonna tell me what’s up with you?” Dean asked.

Sam stiffened, something Dean did not fail to notice.

“Dean,” his brother said and looked over at Dean. “You really, really don’t want to know.”

“See,” Dean said and sat up, shuffling along the bedspread until his back hit the head board. “That just makes me want to know more.”

Sam shook his head. “Please Dean. It’s nothing serious. It’s just . . . I’m still working on it. Let me have a few more weeks,” he pleaded. “I need more time.” Dean ran his free hand through his hair, wanting to yell at Sam, to force the truth out of him.

“Time for what?” Dean demanded when he was back in control.

Sam shook his head. “Dean, please, drop it. There is nothing you can do.”

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Dean shouted, standing up suddenly.

Sam stood, too. “Because I don’t want you to get hurt!” he said. “Dean, this isn’t something I can afford to mess up!”

“I thought you said it was nothin’!” Dean said and the thrill of being right, that Sam was lying, was quashed by the panic of _oh shit Sammy’s in trouble._ “So help me God, Sammy, you tell me what the hell is going on . . .”

“Or what, Dean?” Sam sneered. “This is my problem, not yours! Will you leave it alone?”

“No!” Dean snarled. “I went to Hell for you—the least you could do is tell me what happened when I was gone that made you so different!”

“Nothing happened!” Sam said.

“We both know that’s a lie,” Dean retorted. “How ‘bout tellin’ me the truth?”

“I want to protect you, Dean,” Sam said, switching tactics. “It’s nothing that would put me in danger. My life and wellbeing is not on the line. Just leave it alone.”

“How can I, Sammy?” Dean said and he tried not to let Sam hear just how desperate he was for Sammy to _trust_ him and to _tell_ him. “You can’t even trust me.”

“Not with this, Dean,” he said softly, wistfully. “Not yet. Not right now. One day, maybe.”

Sam left the room, Dean making no move to stop him as Sam walked into the evening light.

Well, now he knew _something_ was up.

It didn’t feel like a victory.

He walked over to the computer, noting that Sam, even in his haste, had remembered to take his little notebook. The computer was up, however, and was open to some fire that had happened in Normal, Illinois some sixty years ago.

“Huh,” he said and wondered what Sam wanted with this old story. It wasn’t for a case, as far as Dean knew.

Could it have something to do with what had happened to Sam?

***

_“Well, Dean,” Alistair’s silky voice murmured softly in his ear. “Have you thought about my offer? Would you like to get off this rack and be free of the pain?”_

_And Dean couldn’t say no anymore._

_“Yes,” he croaked, his eyes shuttering closed, and he heard the demon hiss in triumph and suddenly he was holding a knife and a screaming woman was pinned to a rack in front of him and he looked at the knife and looked at the woman and felt a rush of power and he started to cut . . ._

_He felt no joy in her screams._

***

Angels were trying to stop Lilith from breaking the Seals holding Lucifer back in his Cage in Hell, he’d _started_ the fucking Apocalypse Seal-breaking, and Alistair was dead.

Killed by Sam.

Who still wouldn’t tell him anything.

He was walking around some park late at night, trying to clear his head of Alistair when the now-familiar flap of wings announced the presence of Cas.

“Cas,” he said thickly.

“Dean,” Cas nodded. “You need to be more careful.”

“You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap,” Dean muttered, recalling Alistair’s brief escape before being caught in an invisible Devil’s Trap, where Sam came out of fuckin’ _nowhere_ to gank the demon.

“That's not what I mean. Uriel is dead.”

_Good_. Dean thought bitterly, hating the dark skinned angel.

Instead of saying that, because he had a feeling Cas wouldn't take it well, he said, “Was it the demons?”

“It was disobedience. He was working against us.” Cas sounded unapologetic and unremorseful. Dean found he didn’t care.

But something Alistair said was nagging at him, demanding that he pay attention to it, though he didn’t want to. He looked over at the shorter angel and took a deep breath, wishing he had whiskey or some form of alcoholic beverage to get him through this conversation.

“Is it true?” He asked, his voice wavering slightly. “Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?”

“Yes,” Cas said bluntly. “When we discovered Lilith's plan for you, we laid siege to hell and we fought our way to get to you before you—”

“—Jump-started the apocalypse,” Dean finished.

“And we were too late,” Cas said lowly.

“Why didn't you just leave me there, then?” Dean demanded, glaring at Cas.

“It's not blame that falls on you, Dean; it's Fate. The Righteous Man who begins it is the only one who can finish it. You have to stop it.” Castiel looked earnestly at Dean, like he expected Dean to just raise a hand and stop Lilith there and then.

But Dean was hung up on a few points. “Lucifer? The Apocalypse? What does that mean?” Cas looked away, and Dean’s bicep tingled slightly. “Hey!” he snapped, stopping Cas from leaving. “Don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. What does that mean?”

“I don't know,” Cas said.

“Bull,” Dean said.

“I don't,” Cas growled. “Dean, they don't tell me much. I know our fate rests with you.”

“Well, then you guys are screwed,” Dean said and closed his eyes, turning away from Cas. “I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not—I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me.”

Cas said nothing, and when Dean turned back, the angel was gone.

Dean trudged back to the empty motel room, wondering where the hell Sam was before deciding he didn’t care at this point in time. However, he’d just fallen onto his bed when the door opened and Sam entered, looking slightly happy.

Which was weird for Sam, nowadays.

But Dean felt like crap, and if Sam was omniscient all of a sudden, Dean would take it, right now. He could use a little advice.

“Dean?” Sam asked after he took a good look at Dean’s face. The happy expression dissipated like dew in the sun, and Dean was strangely relieved to see it go, because Sammy looking happy just . . . it didn’t happen anymore.

Dean lifted his head, not looking at Sam. “’The first Seal shall be broken when a Righteous Man sheds blood in Hell.’”

“What?” Sam asked. He didn't sound surprised, Dean thought bitterly. He just sounded off-guard.

Whatever. He still needed the damned advice. “I broke the First Seal, Sammy,” Dean said, nearly choking the words out. “All this is because of me.”

He heard Sam mutter a faint curse before Sam was crossing over to Dean. “You did what you had to to survive,” Sam said emphatically, looking Dean straight in the eye. “Don’t blame yourself, Dean.”

“If I’d just held on a little while longer . . .” Dean whispered, looking back into the clouded, bitter eyes that Sam carried around.

“Dean, it’s not your fault,” Sam said.

“But it is,” Dean said, because it was true, and looked at the ceiling. “I was weak.”

“You held on,” Sam said, and there was something in his voice Dean didn't have the energy to look at too closely. “You’re still you.”

Dean shrugged, and looked at Sam, who was looking at Dean with a curious expression on his face, fear and a faint, tentative hope. “Dean,” Sam said. “There’s something I want to tell you.”

Well, Dean’s night was already ruined by Cas’ news. Sam would just add to it.

And Dean really wanted to know.

Sam opened his mouth.

***

Seriously? Dean thought as he yanked the tie off and unbuttoned the dress shirt. _Seriously?_ The angels had to pick the most inconvenient time to zap he and Sam into some normal life. What the hell? Dean Smith? Some director of something nobody gives a shit about?

_That_ was supposed to be a lesson?

Dean stormed off to an army surplus store and bought jeans, a plain shirt, boots, and a belt. Once he was feeling like himself again he took off to ‘Sam Wesson’s’ apartment. He knocked and heard someone bump into a table as they hurried to the door.

Sam’s familiar face peered through the opening, surprise clear on his features.

“Hi,” Dean greeted him.

“Hey,” Sam said and hesitated for a moment. “Come in,” he invited, stepping back.

“Thanks,” Dean said.

“Excuse the mess,” Sam said. “I wasn't expecting company.”

“You have any the last three weeks?” Dean asked, feeling a rush of satisfaction that this, at least, Sam hadn’t expected and was clueless while Dean knew what was going on. It felt like justice, like _Just Desserts._

“No,” Sam said, like he didn’t really care one way or the other before clearing off some books from the coffee table. “Want coffee, or you still on that low-carb diet?”

Dean snorted so hard that Sam looked at him in alarm. He stifled his amusement with effort.

“Nothin’,” Dean said as he examined a bottle half full of headache medicine lying on the counter of Sam’s little kitchenette.

“Those are for my headaches,” Sam said as if Dean had actually asked him outright.

“Why d’you get headaches?” Dean asked.

Sam looked away and said, “It’s nothing.” Dean moved closer.

“Sam, why d’you get headaches?”

Sam looked at him. “It’s weird.”

Dean laughed. “Stranger than a workaholic ghost?”

Sam grinned. “Maybe.” He fell quiet again, picking a book up and turning it over in his hands. “I dream I'm on fire,” he said softly, and Dean looked sharply at him. “It hurts so much, and I'm so afraid and I scream a lot.” He grimaced. “There are other dreams, too.” He sat down on his couch. “Some are really strange.”

“Strange how?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head.

“Like, stranger than ghosts,” he said. “But it doesn't matter. I just feel so tired, in these dreams, like I have so much to do but I can’t. I have friends and family, but I’m so alone in this future. I don't even know why. It's like it hasn't happened yet.”

“Like a vision?” Dean asked. “Psychic visions and stuff?”

“Dunno,” Sam sighed. “Maybe. I get glimpses of things that seemed to have already happened, so I’m not sure if it’s that cut and dry.”

“What’s it like, in this future of yours?” Dean asked.

“I shouldn’t’ve told you,” Sam said, agitated. The book’s spine creaked with stress in his hands, but Sam didn’t notice. Dean looked at him in alarm. 

_“How will Sam remember?” Dean demanded._

_The smarmy bastard shrugged. “Touch him and he will.”_

_Then the douchebag disappeared._

_“Fuck you, you asshole!” Dean shouted._

Dean didn’t want to touch Sam right now, but the kid was clearly disturbed at something. Dean wondered why Zachariah didn’t do as good a good with Sam as he did with Dean. “You must think I’m crazy, you always think I’m crazy, no matter what I do and . . . no that’s not right, I only met you three days ago!” Sam clenched his hands in frustration.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean said and snapped his fingers at Sam. “Focus, buddy. I’m not sayin’ nothin’. Just tell me what the future is like, okay? Can you do that for me?” Sam shivered where he sat; looking up at Dean with wounded eyes and _damn_ Dean just wanted to give him a hug right now, even if it was touchy-feely crap. He never had much tolerance with anything when it came to Sam.

“It hurts,” Sam said. “Is the future supposed to be so full of pain?”

”I don't know,” Dean said softly. Sam blinked at him, his face crumpling like it used to when he was a snotty-nosed kid clinging to Dad's jacket.

“I know you,” he said softly. “In this future. You're broken and I'm broken and everyone is dead. And everywhere I turn, I see black eyes.” Dean felt an icy chill creep up his spine.

“Sam . . .” Dean said with a stirring of emotion, thick and choked with _something_. Regret? Pain? Sadness? “Here, we’ll figure it out.” Dean stretched his hand toward Sam and Sam took it and startled, eyes glazing as he remembered his true life and Dean waited for Sam to snap out of it, but Sam whimpered— _whimpered_ —and flinched, shaking his head like a dog.

”Dean,” he choked out, staggering away from Dean, pushing at him.

“Visions of the future?” Dean said lowly, mind blank on anything other than _Sam knows the future because he’s seen it_. “I thought that stopped. What the hell Sam?”

“That’s not what’s going on!” Sam said, brow creased in pain.

“Then what?” Dean demanded. “What’s going on?”

Sam rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Not here, not here,” he muttered, looking around. “They could be listening.”

“Who? The angels?” Dean asked.

“They left the Impala in a parking garage a few blocks from here,” Sam said, still wincing in pain. As Dean watched, his baby brother jerked and spun around in fright, looking with fear at a corner of the room.

There was nothing there.

“Sam!” Dean said. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“I’m having trouble dealing with my memories,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t,” Dean said, alarmed. What had happened to Sam that Dean’s Hell memories had been easier to bare?

Sam shook his head. “It’s different with you,” he said. “You have it easy. Thankfully I don’t think Zachariah saw what was in my head; he was more focused on you.”

Wait, Dean had never mentioned Zachariah.

“Who said anything about Zachariah?” Dean demanded.

“ _Later_ , Dean,” Sam hissed, striding over to the door. “I promise to tell you later. We have to leave.”

Dean followed Sam down the stairs and outside because there was nothing else he could do. But he was going to find out the truth.

***

They headed out as fast as possible. Sam was twitchy and breathing calm, steady breaths that he and Dean had learned when they were younger to control their reactions in stressful situations. Dean tried to talk to him, but Sam shut him down so hard Dean finally gave up. They finally pulled into a motel and while Dean checked them in, Sam took their stuff into the room. Dean followed slowly, trying to figure out what was happening inside Sam’s freaky head. Sam was waiting for him in the room.

“What’s goin’ on, Sammy?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Sam blinked tiredly at him and sat down on his bed and looked at Dean. Dean paused, looking at Sam before closing the door and sitting down across from him.

“You got out of Hell September 18th,” Sam stated. Dean nodded. “I woke up that day not knowing where I was.”

“What do you—” Dean began, head swimming, but Sam silenced him with a glare.

“I woke up in bed with Ruby,” Sam said. “I freaked out. Because where I had last been, Dean, was the year 2014, and Ruby was dead.”

Dean’s mind went blank, a dull roar echoing hideously from the depths of his brain and he tried to wrap around the idea that Sam was . . . claiming . . . to be from the future. “This isn’t a joke, is it?” he asked at last. “This is the truth?”

“Yes,” Sam said seriously. “This is the truth. I’ve known exactly what was going to happen this year, on every hunt and every case because I’ve lived it. I know why you were pulled out of Hell, who pulled you out, and what their plans are.”

“If you’re from 2014—and I don’t believe that yet ‘cause it’s crazy—then why do you look so young? And why hide it?” Dean waited quietly, relieved to finally be able to ask questions and get answers.

“I don’t know the exact specifics, but I seem to be possessing my younger self,” Sam said hesitantly. “He’s safe, just asleep.”

Dean felt like throwing up.

“So you just . . . what, woke up and you were in 2008?” Dean finally said, because there really wasn’t any way he could respond to that.

“Pretty much,” Sam said.

“Huh,” Dean said, which was the only thing he could think to say that wouldn't end up with him crashing Baby and beating Sam into a pulp. “Why hide?” he repeated, needing to focus on _something._

Sam looked away. “You’ve been complaining about Ruby this year,” he said softly, and Dean could hear the guilt and the self-loathing. “And rightly so. She tried to manipulate me using my grief and thirst for revenge in order to . . .”

“To what, Sam?” Dean asked.

“Start the Apocalypse,” Sam said and licked his dry lips. “I didn’t know, Dean.” He looked at Dean, pain and remorse shining in his eyes and Dean didn’t . . . what could he say? “I thought I was doing the right thing. Killing Lilith was supposed to be a good thing. It was supposed to be the end.”

Well, shit.

Suddenly the looks Sam had been giving him made more sense, if this really was the truth. Dean couldn't deny it was fucking unbelievable, but it _fit_ and . . .

His brother was _broken_ and Dean could. Not. Fix. It.

“Wait.” Dean stood up, stepping away from Sam to clear his head. “You started the Apocalypse?”

Their family was fucking cursed.

***

The future.

Sam’s future self had come back in time and possessed his younger self. Sam’s _future self_.

What was his life?

Seriously?

He met Cas’ future self, as well, and if that wasn’t jacked up shit than Dean didn’t know what was because Cas’ future was . . . well, awesome.

“He’s been in there for a while,” Dean said uneasily, looking at the motel room where Lilith was waiting for Sam. Sam had gone in alone with no back up and a smile.

A fucking smile.

“He’ll be fine,” Cas-from-the-future said. “How are you holding up?”

Dean shot him a glance. “Okay. You?”

Cas tilted his head. “I’m fine.” He paused for a brief moment. “I am still getting used to human questions, which can be rather unclear. What do you mean by 'okay'?”

“I mean, you’re back in this time when you’ve still got mojo and we’re all so . . . so _innocent_.” The word came twisted out of his mouth, because while he certainly wasn’t innocent—Hell had crushed the last remnants of that—he was compared to Sam and Cas.

Cas shrugged. “I’ve been with the Winchesters for a while now, and I’ve learned to just roll with it.” He smiled slightly. Dean shook his head.

“You’re weird, Cas,” he said and Cas smiled wider.

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” The sort-of angel said.

“Yeah, whatever,” Dean said as Sam exited the motel room grinning in triumph.

***

_Damn_ was it nice watching Sam kill Ruby. The bitch had it coming, and the look on her face as Sam stuck the knife into her gut . . . well, Dean has a new fond memory to look back on.

When Cas got back from the other universe (and boy was it weird, seeing the two Castiel’s standing together, one a laid-back human, the other an uptight angel) he summoned Sam’s body from the future. As Dean looked at the face his brother would soon grow into, he sucked in a breath, unable to tear his gaze away. Because it was one thing to see the other Cas and hear about the jacked-up future they came from; it was entirely different seeing two Sam’s side by side.

But then there was chanting and wind and candles and suddenly Sam-on-the-floor gasped and sat up and Sam-that-was-standing collapsed. Dean and Bobby rushed over to the collapsed Sam, the younger Sam, Dean’s Sam, and as Dean watched over his brother he was almost overcome by the feeling that his brother was home.

Then his brother opened his eyes.

“Dean?” He croaked.

***

So when Sam told him that his future self was a demon, Dean wasn’t okay with it, but there really wasn’t anything he could do. Besides, it wasn’t like Dean would ever _meet_ this nightmare version of himself.

He’d forgotten he was a Winchester.

He stared at his future self who was honest-to-god trying to kill future Sam.

A version of Dean was trying to kill a version of _Sam_. That just didn’t add up.

Because he was Dean and Sam was Sam and there was no way in Hell or in Heaven or on fucking planet dirt that he would try to kill Sam with a single-minded determination of his demon self.

But then they were gone.

And Dean and Sam and Bobby and Anna and future Cas and Cas were left alone in the house.

“Sonvabitch,” Dean said and sort of collapsed on the nearest chair.

“That went better than I was expecting,” Future Cas said. Bobby grunted and headed for the liquor cabinet in the kitchen. Anna sat back against the wall and closed her eyes. Castiel stood against a wall, glaring at his younger self.

Who ignored him.

Sam stared at the sort-of angel. “That went _better?_ ”

Cas shrugged. “I was expecting Dean to try and kill all of us.” Cas said. “He is a demon, and demons are abominations, all of the negative human emotions exemplified and enlarged until all good traits are erased.”

“But you said he was still Dean!” Sam protested. “Somewhere he has to still be my brother.”

This was the Sam who was going to start the Apocalypse, who had been fucking Ruby and drinking her blood, and suddenly Dean didn’t care anymore because he was still Sam, and not the broken future version.

This was the Sam he’d wanted to see when he’d gotten out of Hell.

Cas shrugged. “Whatever,” he said, obviously trying the word out, mouth stretching around the word slightly more than necessary.

Dean sighed. “So what’s gonna happen now?”

Cas paused and thought for a moment. “They talk it out and hopefully avoid killing each other,” he said at last. “That’s the best we can hope for right now.”

“But that Dean wasn’t made in Hell,” Sam persisted. “Surely that means he’s at least slightly human, still?”

Cas shrugged. “I don’t know what it means,” he said. “No one does. Dean is something new.”

“Don’t kill him,” Sam said quietly. “Try and save him, first.”

Cas looked at Sam with a solemn gaze. “I will,” he said.

Sam nodded, relieved.

***

Dean watched the three time travelers leave, feeling relieved and glad and so fucking tired. He’d just wanted this mess to be over with, and now that it was it was hard to accept.

He was actually going to miss annoying, cryptic future Sam and snarky Fallen Cas.

He was not going to miss Demon Dean.

***

“Whatcha up to?” Dean asked as he walked over to Sam, two beers in hand. They were outside in Bobby’s scrap yard, Sam reclining against the Impala. His younger brother—the _proper_ Sam, who was whole and happy and just so _Sam_ —raised his eyes from the journal his future self had left and grabbed one of the bottles.

“Readin’,” Sam said. “I’m really glad we aren’t living in their timeline.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said and leaned against the hood. “Makes you wonder how they’re doin’.”

“I hope they’re okay,” Sam said softly. “I hope things worked out. They really deserve a break.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah,” he said. “I know you were asleep for most of it, but your future self wasn’t half bad.” He drank a sip and looked out at the junk yard Bobby really needed to clean up at some point in time.

“He scared me,” Sam murmured, his dorky bangs falling forward to hide his eyes.

Dean remembered when he’d first saw future Sam (though he didn’t know it at the time) and remembered the pain and bitterness, hopelessness, and darkness that clung to his eyes and trailed along his face and bent his shoulders and Dean shook his head, banishing those thoughts.

_Black eyes._

Dean shot him a glance. “An’ you think my future self didn’t?”

“Your future self was a demon,” Sam said. “Mine wasn’t, but he was . . .”

“Barely human,” Dean offered, even though the idea didn't sit right. “I know. ‘S why I flipped out on him a couple ’a times.”

The future Sam hadn't been _not_ human he had just been . . .

“You flipped?” Sam smirked.

Broken.

“Dude, the guy knew all the hunts and knew how to kill everythin’ and acted like he was better than me,” Dean complained. He wished, suddenly, that he’d tried to prove to that future Sam that he was trustworthy, that he could be told the truth.

He’d been so wrapped up in Hell, expecting that to be enough reason for Sam to tell him that he hadn’t really tired. If he’d tried, then maybe he could have tried to help that broken Sam sooner.

“I’m sure he wasn’t trying to,” Sam soothed. “But he did have a lot to do.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. 

_Like save the world._

They sat in silence for a long time, looking up at the faint stars.

“Think we can get out of this life?” Dean asked suddenly. “Y’know, go live a normal life without anythin’ trying to kill us.”

It was a thought that had been nagging him for a long time, working its way into his head from a conversation he’d had with Sammy’s future self.

_“You ever get a break from this life in the future of yours?” Dean asked Sam as they drove away from the motel where Sam had captured Lilith._

_“Yeah,” Sam said and looked out the window. “Yet another time I failed you.”_

_“What?” Dean asked, looking over in confusion._

_Sam sighed. “I . . . Bobby was dead,” he said. “And you and Cas had just died. I was going to go insane. I could feel it. I just . . . I had to get out, or I’d snap and I really needed my head in the game to look for you. It took me a year to feel stable enough not to flip and go nuts, and by that point you were out, you’d freed yourself, and you were pissed that I hadn’t looked for you.”_

_“Why didn’t you tell him you were going to go nuts?” Dean asked._

_Sam shrugged. “I think he’d look at it as an excuse,” he said quietly, and Dean cursed his older self. “I’d had issues with my sanity before that, but had been cured, so he might not have considered my reasons . . . real.”_

_“That’s bullshit,” Dean said. “I trust you, Sammy. Why the hell doesn’t he?”_

_“For a lot of very good reasons,” Sam said. “You shouldn’t trust me, either.”_

_“What, you going to flip?” Dean asked. Sam shook his head. “You’re Sam. I trust you.” He said stubbornly._

_Sam was quite for a long moment. “You had a normal life for a year,” he said. “After I went to Hell. You lived with Lisa and Ben and had a normal life. You were happy, and I took you away from it.”_

_“Normal life isn’t really for me,” Dean said bracingly. “I was probably gonna go off to hunt on my own again soon anyway.”_

_“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said and stared out the window._

“I think most monsters and demons and angels won’t respect our wishes,” Sam pointed out back in the present.

Dean shrugged, still not looking at him. “I’m not saying we be stupid ‘bout it,” he said. “I’m saying we retire. Engrain salt into the windows and doors, stuff like that. Settle down. Get jobs.”

“You’d hate that,” Sam said.

Dean hesitated. “’M not so sure,” he said at last. “Can we try?”

Dean could feel Sam looking at him for a long moment. “We could,” he said. “We could try.”

Dean turned and gave him a small smile, which Sam returned. Dean raised the bottle to his lips and looked up at the sky with Sam, and as they watched, a shooting star flared brightly before fading to the horizon.

_“All my life_  
_I've never known where you've been_  
_There were holes in you_  
_The kind that I could not mend_  
_And I heard you say_  
_Right when you left that day_  
_Does everything go away?_  
_Yeah, everything goes away._  
_But I'm going to be here 'til forever_  
_So just call when you're around."_


End file.
